O, who would have thought this hard old man
Had room in his heart for such rainbow span?
Who would have deemed that wild copse flowers
Were tenderly haunting his latest hours?
But what did the old man’s spirit tell,
In confessing it loved the woods so well?
What do we learn from the old man’s sigh,
But that Nature and Poetry cannot die?
ODE OF ANACREON.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GREEK.
The women tell me, every day,